Even Sister Ruth might be a better choice, Eleanor thought. Despite her rigidity, the dour nun had shown flashes of compassion with Sister Christina and at Brother Rupert’s burial. She had also gained sufficient respect amongst the nuns to be elected prioress before Eleanor’s arrival. That suggested the nun had demonstrated some competence and leadership to her fellows. She shook her head in frustration. How best to handle that particular and stubborn adversary of hers continued to elude her.
The unfortunate experience Christina had had with Crowner Ralf in the chapel reminded Eleanor that she needed to assure the young woman that she would not have to face the rough invader again. “Peace of mind is tenuous enough at Tyndal these days with all my charges,” she said with a sigh. “May there be a quick solution to the crime!”
The death, nay, murder of Brother Rupert had not only grieved the nuns, it had understandably terrified them. Death was never a stranger to any of them, but murder in a house of God was unthinkable, an abomination, a violation that permeated each soul with a feeling of uncleanness as well as personal dread.
If Eleanor had been greeted with skepticism and contempt at her first chapter, the mood of her charges had changed by her second. When she had called them together the afternoon of Brother Rupert’s death to announce that their beloved priest had been hideously slaughtered, she could see growing hysteria in the pale faces and unblinking eyes staring back at her. Then they had looked to her for wisdom and calm leadership. Again and more fervently, Eleanor had prayed to be equal to their needs.
“Armageddon is surely coming,” she had heard some mutter. “Why else would our sanctified ground be so befouled?”
“Satan is an assassin and has surely killed our priest,” others suggested. “Only the Prince of Darkness could have breached our walls.”
She had not shied away from telling them the truth of what had happened that day, but just as quickly she had turned their thoughts from that horror to the story of Cain and Abel. It was a comforting tale of the inevitability of justice, of Good prevailing over Evil even in a sinful world. God had not only seen Cain in the unimaginable act of killing his brother but had also justly punished him for it, she emphasized, and, with an unwavering voice, she announced she had certain confidence that God would lead the crowner to the perpetrator quickly. Justice would prevail.
Many had visibly relaxed after her speech, their burning eyes shutting in weary relief. Those still undecided had nervously looked about them; but seeing others take comfort in her words, they took solace in the general shrinking of the atmosphere of terror. A few, like Sister Anne and Sister Ruth, seemed never to have feared that Armageddon was imminent. Eleanor had expected such of Sister Anne, but seeing the same calm strength in the abrasive Sister Ruth pleasantly surprised her.
Once calmed, a simple certainty that the vile murderer had been from the world outside Tyndal’s walls and that he would be captured soon infused most of the priory inhabitants:
“Someone forgot to lock a gate,” one had said.
“Not likely to happen again if we have guards,” a second nodded.
“Carelessness. A lay brother must have…”
Eleanor had encouraged this conclusion, promptly announced her plans for improving the security of all walls and gates, then quite visibly oversaw strict compliance.
“I may not afford myself such blithe assumptions, however,” she said to the cat, which was licking his paws. “Murder done by a member of the priory, by a soul committed to God, might be unthinkable to most, but it is an eventuality I have to prepare for. If the culprit is a member of Tyndal, the Church will take him from the secular crowner’s hands for ecclesiastical trial. Depending on how that situation is handled, the reputation of Tyndal might be tarnished for years to come.”
Eleanor looked back down at her feet. The cat had finished his post-meal scrub and was curling up for a nap. “Nay, sir! Enough woolgathering for me and enough leisure for you. It’s back to work for both of us.”
She walked to the door of her chamber, carefully letting the cat go first, then firmly shut the door behind them.
***
Tyndal’s hospital could house thirty patients, somewhat evenly divided between the sexes, and treat many more. Not all Fontevraud houses were linked to hospitals, but Tyndal had once been a Benedictine house dedicated to the care of the sick, a much needed service in this lonely part of England. When that old priory had fallen into disrepair and eventual abandonment due to inadequate revenues, one affluent nobleman, deeply penitent in his old age for some regretted but undefined sins, had begged Fontevraud to resurrect Tyndal for the good of his soul.
The Abbess of Fontevraud had agreed, with the understanding that he grant the priory some very profitable lands to keep the establishment solvent. Shortly thereafter, the noble’s wife, with his concurrence, begged admission to the Order and became the first prioress of Tyndal. It was she who had the hospital building repaired, thus allowing Tyndal to continue to care for the sick and dying.
The priory began to acquire some reputation for successful treatments, especially in more recent years. Two special areas of accomplishment were the easing of joint pain and the surprising absence, even cures, of often terminal infections. Although the local villagers, the fishermen, and their families were the primary recipients of monastic care, wealthier patients sometimes came for ease of their mortal aches and donated quite generously when the treatment proved favorable.
Thus the hospital not only provided a service to the sick but also helped Tyndal remain reasonably solvent, a condition the current prioress wished to maintain in view of the diminishment of other revenues. Eleanor wanted it run efficiently.
***
“My lady!” Sister Christina bobbed awkwardly.
What age was this young nun, Eleanor wondered, as she reached out and gently touched Sister Christina’s shoulder. Life seemed not to have placed the slightest mark of passage on the infirmarian’s face. Even the skin on her plump hands was as smooth as a babe’s. How could such an innocent be in charge of the sick and dying?
Eleanor looked around at the clusters of suffering people waiting near the door to the hospital. Some were mobile. Some had been carried. Eleanor passed one family who had brought a young woman on a litter. Glancing down, Eleanor had shuddered. The woman’s mouth was frozen open in the silent scream of death. The body was beginning to reek. When she looked at the faces of the two older women, two young men, and three children who had brought the body here, however, she saw blind hope as they patiently waited their turn to be seen.
Eleanor gestured in their direction to Sister Christina. “I think Brother Thomas should attend that family. His services would be of great use.”
“We have not seen the good brother this morning.”
“How odd. Surely he neither forgot nor got lost.”
“Perhaps Prior Theobald had need of him?”
Eleanor bit her tongue and nodded. She would have to change the prior’s, nay, Simeon’s assumption that his needs took precedence, at least without first requesting her approval or sending an immediate explanation.
“My lady?”
“Sister.”
“If I may, I would tend that family myself since the good brother isn’t here. Indeed, I have seen such grief before and believe I can give them some ease of spirit.”
“You needn’t ask my permission. We are here to give succor. By all means, go. I will wait.”
As Eleanor watched the round, ageless nun walk hurriedly over to the huddled group, she saw the normally awkward, dithering woman change into a gentle, calm, and confident figure. Sister Christina lightly touched each person’s hand before she gathered them around, then gestured for each to kneel with her next to the corpse of…of whom? Their mother? Their sister? Daughter? Someone’s wife?